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We were thrilled to catch up with Marlena Katene, one of Tenant Voice’s Queensland reference group members, to hear all about her experiences building and owning her own SDA. Marlena is a groundbreaking journalist, whose SDA journey is one that deserves much greater awareness. Is SDA ownership the future? You can watch the full interview here.

Why did you decide to go down the path to SDA ownership?

In 2016, we were in Melbourne visiting friends—a simple, ordinary trip that ended up changing the entire direction of my life. One afternoon, almost by chance, we were invited to a disability-housing conference. I nearly didn’t go. It felt like something aimed at people in situations far different from mine, people whose paths looked nothing like the one I was building. But something told me to sit in that room and listen.

That was the first time I ever heard the term SDA.

I remember the feeling so clearly: curiosity, hope, and a quiet voice inside whispering, Pay attention. This might matter.

At the time, we had a “friend”—and looking back, that word feels generous—who was investing heavily in SDA. He spoke about it with enthusiasm, but the enthusiasm wasn’t for the people SDA was meant to help. It was for the money, the opportunity, the way he could “leverage” disability funding. What unsettled me most was how casually he spoke about my disability, as if it were a business asset he could tap into.

He told me I needed to be open to the idea of living with others with high physical disabilities.

“It wouldn’t be that bad,” he said.

“I could build you a brand-new house,” he said.

There was something hollow in the way he said it. Like the house wasn’t for me at all—it was for his bottom line. And then he asked if I knew anyone else with disabilities he could “help.” That was the moment everything inside me stiffened. It wasn’t help. It was hunting.

I left those conversations feeling uneasy—not just with him, but with the idea of someone else shaping my future based on what benefited them. His vision didn’t look anything like mine. As a working entertainment journalist, being placed in a shared home wasn’t just inconvenient; it would have been unfair to me and to the people I might have been living with. My work demands flexibility, privacy, unpredictability. And my life—my personality—needs space to breathe, to create, to belong.

From very early on, I knew what I wanted my housing journey to look like. I didn’t want to settle. I didn’t want to be “placed.” I wanted to live where I could grow professionally and socially, not shrink to fit someone else’s idea of what disabled housing should be.

So, we started digging deeper—me, my family, and anyone who would listen without an agenda. And slowly, through conversations and research that stretched late into the night, we discovered something that completely shifted the narrative:

I could actually own an SDA property myself.

If I qualified, I—not some investor—would receive the funding.

The thought was overwhelming. Up until that point, I had been saving fiercely, putting away everything I could to buy a home. But the properties within my budget were discouraging. I’d find one that seemed promising, only to walk through the door and see how much would need to be changed—doorways widened, bathrooms rebuilt, ramps added, entire layouts restructured. Every house felt like a compromise I didn’t want to make.

So when I learned I could own an SDA property, it felt like the universe had cracked open a door I didn’t even know existed. When I shared it with my family, there was this moment—almost like a pause in the air. It sounded too good to be true. We weren’t naïve; we knew the system could be complicated, that red tape existed, that hope could be a dangerous thing. But there was a spark in all of us.

If there was even the smallest chance this could work—

if there was any path that led to independence, dignity, and a place that truly felt mine—

we were determined to find it.

Looking back now, that conference in Melbourne feels like the start of a story I didn’t know I was writing. A story about choosing myself, even when others tried to write my future for me. A story about trusting instinct over convenience. A story about refusing to let someone else’s intentions define my life.

And most of all, it was the beginning of realizing that the home I dreamed of wasn’t impossible—just waiting for me to fight for it.

How complex was the process?

The process, unfortunately, wasn’t straightforward. In fact, the deeper I went, the more I began to uncover the “catches” hidden beneath the excitement. One of the biggest hurdles was applying for SDA itself and having to explain—not just why I wanted to live by myself, but why I needed to. I had to justify why living with others with disabilities wasn’t suitable for me, even though it was so clear to anyone who truly understood my work, my lifestyle, or my goals. It felt strange to have to defend my independence, as though I was asking for something unreasonable instead of something essential.

And then came the financial reality check. I learned that even if I managed to navigate every form, every assessment, every hoop that needed jumping through, I’d still need to come up with a 20% deposit, plus the cost of specialist adaptations, plus stamp duty. Up until that moment, I genuinely believed I was nearly ready to purchase a place based on what I was earning. I’d saved around 10–15%, and I’d been so proud of that. I thought I was close.

But suddenly I was being told I needed almost double what I had.

It was frustrating because if I didn’t have a disability, and if I didn’t require certain accessible features, I actually would have been in the ballpark. The unit I was looking at was in a higher price range, but because of that, none of the usual first-home buyer initiatives applied. There were no government programs I could tap into, no grants that recognised accessibility needs, no support designed for people in situations like mine. It was like reaching the top of a mountain, only to be told the real climb hadn’t even started yet.

Even so, we decided to keep going.

We began the process. We booked assessments. We held our breath more times than I can count. And from the very first day, Greg Barry from SDA Services in Brisbane looked at my case and knew I was eligible. He saw the whole picture—not just the medical detail, not just the paperwork, but the person behind it. His confidence gave us strength at a time when doubt was knocking constantly.

They say good things in life never come easy, and SDA home ownership absolutely proves that. There were moments where it felt overwhelming, moments where the obstacles seemed bigger than the dream. But it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Far from it.

With the right people around me—people who genuinely backed my vision, who understood why independence mattered so deeply—we pushed through every barrier.

And we got it over the line.

It wasn’t just a win on paper; it changed my life in ways I’m still discovering.

In terms of financing, was it difficult to explain to banks how SDA works? What barriers did you face, if any?

For years, my plan was to buy a regular house and do the access modifications myself. In 2019, I even had a contract on a place, but once we looked at the cost of making it habitable, it simply wasn’t realistic. After I was approved for SDA, everything changed. We decided a unit was the best option, and I was incredibly fortunate to be approved for one resident living.

At that time, Bank Australia was the only lender that recognised SDA payments for servicing a loan. Their dedicated SDA team knew the system inside out and supported me through the entire 18-month build. The hardest part was finding the extra 10% deposit on top of what I’d already saved, and I also had to pay out a car loan to make the numbers work.

Somehow, I managed to pull it all together independently—though I knew the Bank of Mum and Dad was there as a backup if I needed it.

What advice do you have for someone looking to do the same?

First, dream it’s possible. Dreaming costs nothing—the expense and effort come later—but the dream has to come first. Take it one step at a time. Just like any home ownership journey, the biggest step will be your deposit. For some people, that step feels impossible; for others, creative thinking can help bridge the gap. I’ve spoken to people who have family land or parents who own their home—while I’m no finance expert, using family home equity can sometimes be an option.

Talk to others who’ve been through the process, and don’t be afraid to micromanage the parts you don’t understand. I certainly did. It took a whole team to get me over the line. In truth, I played only a small part in my own home ownership journey.

SDA Services were incredible, and the developer (Mosaic) worked closely with my SDA assessor to make sure the unit met every requirement. That collaboration took so much pressure off me. I didn’t have to scramble to find a developer who cared—they were genuinely invested in making the unit meet all codes and my needs. I was blessed to have a team where everyone played their part.

What has it meant to you to own your SDA apartment?

It has meant that I now have a home. As Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz said, “There’s no place like home.” And it’s true. No matter where my journey takes me, I now have space to entertain, space for a dog, space to paint a wall if the mood strikes. I have a comfortable place to work from home, and most importantly, I have a place in my community.

My home is close to everything, and I feel connected. Despite my obvious needs, I am now able to access my community independently—and that means everything. Every person, with or without a disability, deserves a place to come home to. I finally have that, and my door is always open. My home is warm, welcoming, lived-in—not sterile. I love having people over, and owning my home means I can settle, plant roots, and truly belong.

I’m known in my neighbourhood, and I know many in return. I feel blessed every day. And I’m deeply grateful for the people who didn’t just see my vision, but believed in it and supported it. When SDA is done right, it is a game changer. It has changed my life for the better.

And now, my parents can rest easy knowing that long after they’re gone, I’ll be okay. My home has given them peace—and given me a future.